


Date?

by pridecookies



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: BUT ITS HARD, Broody Fenris (Dragon Age), Fluff, I just want them to be happy, M/M, and i just have a lot of feelings, little gays, we love the gays and their fruit baskets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:14:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27430306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pridecookies/pseuds/pridecookies
Summary: Two fruits sitting in a mansion not five feet apart because they are gay.
Relationships: Fenris/Male Hawke
Kudos: 27





	Date?

Fenris sat alone in his mansion, as he usually did. Seated in front of the fire, he looked at the book he had been given, using a single finger to slowly trace the words, to try to understand, fight to understand. He sighed and leaned back in the chair. Reading itself was a difficult task but it was hard to focus now. Too many other places his mind could go, too many bitter pills to swallow. Suddenly, there was a cacophony downstairs, the sound of a crash, a loud thud. He stood and rushed to the mansion’s landing, acutely aware that he was missing his sword. But his concerns were laid to rest and replaced with new ones when a familiar voice echoed in the front room. 

“Honey, I’m home!”

_Malcolm._

Fenris groaned and ran downstairs, approaching the primary entryway. The mage had burst through with his usual chaos and the upper hinge of the door had been broken. 

“Hawke, what— _what have you done to my door_?”

Malcolm Hawke leaned against the wall with something tucked behind his back, his usual charm radiating like heat from a furnace. Fenris tensed. 

“ _Technically_ , Fenris, it isn’t your door is it? But since it’s rather useless now you might as well move. Believe it or not, I don’t even _remotely_ hate you and would be delighted to come home to you standing on my landing, arms crossed, entirely disapproving of everything I have ever done and _highly_ suspicious.” 

“What is that?”

“A present, for you.”

“It’s—“

“It’s a fruit basket.”

Malcolm held out what was indeed, a fruit basket. Fenris took it and stared.

“Why did you bring me a fruit basket?”

“It’s a date. I brought you a date. Literal dates. Fruits.”

Fenris blinked.

“I—“

“Alright, so I was in the Chantry doing my usual heathen routine--” Malcolm shoved himself off the wall and paced, throwing his hands around, taking up space as he always did. Fenris was specifically conscious of where he allowed his eyes to rest.

_Eyes. Don’t linger, stay focused on the eyes. Focus._

Malcolm continued to drone on, an impressive display of the mere force of his personality, per usual. “I saw in the kitchen there was this little basket with a note for Knight Commander Meredith and I thought, ‘Well, she’s a busy woman with all her lynching and systematic oppression and skincare so she’ll never _properly_ appreciate this.’”

“Malcolm, _no_.”

The mage smirked, “Malcolm, _yes_.”

“You—“

“Stole it, yeah. It’s a fruit basket, Fenris. Everyone loves those. You can’t have expected me to just _let it be_. Why would I do that when it could be delivered to more pleasant company?”

_Damn._

He leaned on the table, a confident grin plastered on his face. Fenris groaned and rubbed the flesh between his eyes, suddenly very tired. 

“Nothing about you makes rational sense.”

“Thank the Maker,” Malcolm chuckled, “That sounds terrible. Who wants to be sensical in an entirely non-sensical world?” He took a step toward the elf and crossed his arms. “You said ‘another night’ so I waited. It is now another night.” Fenris stared at him, not comprehending. Malcolm rolled his eyes, “Yesterday, Fenris. You were drinking, you allowed yourself a moment to comprehend your own feelings, you gave me the _potentially_ most alluring smile I have yet to witness in my rather—” he coughed, “—experienced life. I assume there was years of repression behind it to give it that kind of potency. Staggering. Arresting. Heart-stopping, without your, uh,—” he made a fist and punched the air, “—usual violence of course.”

The elf scoffed, his brows raised. Slowly, his expression shifted to its usually deadpan and he shook his head, “You do realize I am a runaway slave and an elf.”

Malcolm shrugged, “And you seem to despise me. I find that frustratingly attractive.”

Fenris smiled, briefly, but buried it immediately. “My general feelings toward you could be described with a different word but you are not exactly—” he frowned, “—well, it is surprising. That is clear to me at least.”

“Surprising could be good.”

“It could also be unwise.”

“Well, I _like_ that, you luminous fool.”

“Hawke.”

“Fenris,” Malcolm crossed his arms and grinned. It was likely Andraste would not approve of what that smiled seemed to suggest. The elf tensed again and Malcolm's smile widened.“If the intent is to get me to change my mind, consider it a losing battle. I won’t.”

Fenris raised a single brow and set the fruit basket on the table, avoiding the mage’s eyes. He seemed to be both distraught and amused at once, if that was even possible.

“I have no intention of the sort,” he said after a moment, glancing at Malcolm with the same look that had been strategically employed the night before. It seemed to have an effect, the mage winced. “Though I doubt no one else currently has your attention.”

Malcolm snorted, “You realize I need not look very far in Kirkwall for company.”

“I am very aware.”

“Yet,” he gestured to the rather bleak setting, “here I am.”

“Naturally, you like a challenge.”

The mage chuckled, “I do. It would be a lie if I said that was _why_ I was here though.”

Fenris shifted, glancing at him, “I see.”

Malcolm shook his head and tentatively stepped toward him, keeping his eyes locked with the elf as if approaching a frightening animal. Cautious. Deliberate. Encouraging. Inches from him now, he waited there a moment, enjoying Fenris’ now incredibly tense presence. With a smirk, he leaned down, never removing his gaze, and picked an apple out of the basket and proceeded to take an unapologetically aggressive bite of it. 

“I brought you a fruit basket, Fenris,” he mumbled, “That’s practically a proposal.”

Fenris smiled, rolled his eyes, and turned on his heel to walk back to the landing, “Come on then, mage. Let us just see how it goes.” Malcolm cocked his head to the left, very openly admiring. “Hurry up. I may change my mind.”

At that, he chucked the apple over his shoulder and ran after the elf. 


End file.
